The Fallen MockingJay
by HungeryUnicorns
Summary: Katniss Everdeen has nothing left in her life, and to be honest, she is miserable. She jus wans to... die. Is that really so much to ask for? Post MockingJay, Pre Epiloge. Contains MockingJay spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

The knife in my hand quivers with the rest of me, and I try to calm myself as I slide down on the floor by the stove in my kitchen. It's cold. Almost as cold as how the knife blade looks. 


	2. Chapter One- Fixed

**Hello!**

**So last itme I believe a few months ago, I posted the story but it didn't post the whole Chapter, so here it is! Enjoy!**

* * *

The knife in my hand quivers with the rest of me, and I try to calm myself as I slide down on the floor by the stove in my kitchen. It's cold. Almost as cold as how the knife blade looks.  
I clove my eyes as I try and gather my thoughts.  
`_My name is Katniss Everdeen. I'm not sure, but I believe I am 18 years old. I've been in a death match twice. I started a war. I let my little sister die from a bomb. My best friend made that bomb. Being I didn't run in, it's both our faults. I murdered my little sister_'  
Tears slip from my eyes as I open them, and I see the clean, shining knife standing in my hand. Who knows why I picked a clean knife. The dirtier ones would have made more sense; it would have hurt more. I deserve that pain. _Should I get a dirty knife?_ No, I just won't make a clean cut.  
I've tried doing many other things to compensate Prim's death. To try and punish myself for it. I've tried keeping my head under water and cutting off air, but I would need someone to hold me down so I won't have control. I haven't had the guts to ask anyone yet, to be honest.  
I've tried to whip myself, but again, I would need someone else.  
I've tried burning myself, and the burns show. I would need someone to keep me down though.  
One thing that works is some pills I found in my cabinet. Who knows why they are there, but they are. When I take them, everything just hurts. To be honest, it's a relief, though it causes me pain. But I cannot control it. That's the best part.  
I could love if someone did this for me, but that probably will not happen.  
I shudder as I raise my left arm, bringing my right, trembling hand out, and holding the knife up to it, closing my eyes just a bit as the knife enters my skin. I moan softly, almost in relief, and dig the knife in deeper. I smile through my tears of pain.  
I open my eyes to look at the knife. It's beautiful, really. I'm getting exactly what I deserve. I take the knife put and open the skin in hopes for me to bleed more and make it hurt more. It does an excellent job of that. I smile and cry, shaking at the pain and pleasure.  
"What the hell, Katniss!" I hear Peeta's frantic voice say as he comes over to me. When he gets close, I feel worried and try pushing him away. No. I'm so close. _He can't ruin this for me. Not now..._  
"Go away!" I yell in a cry. Peeta doesn't seem to listen, and gets a medic kit. When I try to run for it, he grabs me and sits me at the kitchen table. He can barley look at me.  
Through the past 8 months, the last time I had seen him, he's gotten stronger, it seems. I try and pull my hand away, but his doesn't like to listen to my rules.  
_8 damn months. Out of all the times you could have to come over, you come now._  
Sooner or later, I acknowledge he won't give up on thus and stop fighting, holding in my whimpers as I watch him clean my wound.  
After a while, it's just pain in my wrist and I let out my whimpers. This isn't fair. All I want to do is die. That isn't much to ask for.  
The pain goes dull after a few minuets, and he wraps my wrist so tightly I'm not sure if I could move it. He took that hand in his then, and forced my chin up gently to look into his eyes. "You wanna tell me what happened?" He asked softly. I shake my head in response. He sighed softly.  
It's just then that I realize I'm still sobbing quietly. Actually, I realize just what he walked into. Me, trying to kill myself. He doesn't possibly care about me that much anymore that it would hurt him in any way. It didn't make sense to me.  
"Why don't we go into the livingroom?" He asked softly. I sniffle and nod, and shakily. He nodded, and I stood, my legs shaking as I stared to the ground and he guided me into the livingroom of my house.  
He gently sat with me as I brought my knees to my chest and curled up there, hiding my face in them. He shouldn't have to deal with me. I'm so pathetic, and I know it. I hear him sigh, and he gently rubbed my back.  
"You can go now," I whispered, trying to not show that I was crying. A few moments later, I heard "No, I can't. I'm not leaving you here like this."  
"Just go!" I yelled, more of a wail, to be honest. He looked at me, and I felt myself enfolded into his arms. I don't fight, and find myself hugging him back, my hands gripping the back of shirt, my face burying against him, trying not to cry and ruin his shirt.  
He strokes my hair while he hugs me, whispering comforting nothings into my ear. I just nod along, though I don't hear any of them. I had forgotten how selfless and comforting Peeta is, and to be honest, I now realized I missed it, in a way.  
I end up falling asleep there as he rocks me in his arms. He keeps the nightmares away, as he always has.


End file.
